Bookslut

July 2004

Four Conversations About One Thing: The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

Few novels (and even fewer by South Asian American writers) have the ability
to polarize readers into competing, sulky, defensive camps as The Namesake
has done. While this conflict hasn’t made the $16.80-plus-shipping decision
any easier for us, it’s surely better to have real discussion in place
of the usual highhanded Kakutani review and subsequent murmurs of assent.

Jhumpa Lahiri’s second offering, following her Pulitzer-winning collection
of short stories, The Interpreter of Maladies, was long anticipated
with drooling jowls by critics and readers alike. To add to that pressure, Lahiri
is perhaps the only South Asian American writer familiar enough to the mainstream
to earn a feature in Oprah magazine. A lot of people wanted her to get all their
personal stories right in one go.

The Namesake is a meandering narrative following Gogol, the American
son of Bengali Indians who immigrated to Massachusetts during the 60s. Yes,
the hero is named after Nikolai Gogol, of The Overcoat fame. In Bengali
tradition, Gogol should have been the character’s nickname at home and
Nikhil his official name for the records. But through a series of misadventures,
Gogol is what sticks and this neither-American-nor-Indian title comes to stand
for his struggle with identity, culture and everything in between.

I expected to dislike The Namesake. The lauded The Interpreter
of Maladies was well-written but failed to make any kind of lasting impression
on me, and I didn’t presume anything better for this novel. But, The
Namesake was surprisingly engaging -- I was so drawn into the characters
and their stories that I missed my stop on my evening commute twice (twice!).

Lahiri’s description of detail is almost mathematically precise. Her
images and tastes and sounds surround us immediately, willing us into her vision
of Bengali-America and its unlikely representative, Gogol. But the borderline-ADD
narrative and the wandering, almost non-existent plotline demand a lot of patience.
Also, after laboring through some of the less-than-compelling chapters, the
inconclusive ending is not much reward. At the end of it, I still wasn’t
sure if I liked The Namesake or not.

So I thought I would solicit the opinions of other South Asian women for you,
some who greeted The Namesake with skepticism, and others who cried at every
page. Why? Because after working with surveys all day long, I apparently still
can’t get enough of them. Here are some thoughts from Auditi, Suparna,
Saira and Pooja, speaking to Bookslut.com via email.

What first drew you towards The Namesake?

Auditi: I loved Interpreter of Maladies and had been waiting for
Lahiri to come out with her next work. As a Bengali-American, I was especially
drawn to Lahiri, but in general I seek out South Asian American writers.

Pooja: I had been waiting for Lahiri's The Namesake. I saw the book,
picked it up, and read it in one night.

Suparna: Jhumpa Lahiri's background as a Bengali-American writer reflects a
lot of my own background and her first collection of short stories spoke to
me vividly. I was looking for something to feel connected to.

Saira: I had read Interpreter of Maladies and had enjoyed two or three
stories from it.

How did Gogol’s name and his namesake work for you as the main
metaphor throughout the novel?

Auditi: There’s a parallel to what many South Asians (like myself) went
through. My name was about as foreign as Gogol in the tiny Midwestern town where
I grew up! On the other hand, Gogol is also foreign in an Indian context, signifying
that he didn’t really fit into that community either. I see it as a simple
metaphor, but one that’s effective.

Suparna: Perfect! It's a Bengali thing I guess -- I remember being "Rinky"
for most of my life. Then I went to school and suddenly I became "Suparna."
There is this identity split that comes out of this situation with naming --
Gogol's dak name was his Bengali side, and his balo name was his American side.
Eventually, you can only reach peace by merging both those sides. I loved it
-- it really connected with how I see myself and how I've come to peace with
myself.

Saira: The only thing it did for me was to point out a very important connection
between the main character and his father's past.

Was the plot (or lack thereof) satisfying to you?

Auditi: It wasn’t a typical coming-of-age story, which generally hinges
on a particular event or pivotal experience. But this seemed real to me because
it focused on the kinds of experiences and events that we all have.

Suparna: A lot of the narratives had a dreamy, dragged along for the ride kind
of feeling - as if things were just out of Gogol's control. I think that’s
how most identity crises feel: as if they are not happening to us and we are
caught in them in a helpless manner.

Saira: I definitely needed some sort of conclusion, a message of hope maybe,
to carry with me. I felt that by the end, Gogol had not resolved his identity
issue or really figured where he belonged. Maybe that left me saddened.

Did you feel this captured your story, or your experience as a South-Asian
American?

Auditi: In many ways, yes, as much as another’s writing possibly can.
For the first several chapters I just kept crying as I saw my own mother reflected
in Ashima (Gogol’s mother). I think that the way that Gogol views her
is characteristic of how a second generation Bengali-American might look at
his or her mother. It was only as an adult that I came to understand and appreciate
what my mother had gone through, and Gogol goes through that same process. At
the end of the novel Gogol is 32, my age, and I felt I had learned something
with him.

Pooja: I didn't understand why he was so self-hating, so Indian-hating. I agree
that many of us go through times in our lives when we want to reject all things
South Asian, but it seems there are reasons for it or experiences that motivate
us to do so. Gogol’s character didn't deal (in the book, in his head)
with any conflict.

Suparna: I cried and laughed through much of the book -- the naming drama,
the awkwardly handled love affairs, the painful love/embarrassment that Gogol's
parents bring him, the Ivy League pressure, the foods and the presentations,
the crazy, desperate nature of Bengali gatherings. I loved it and it made me
sad, made me miss my childhood and made me miss my own parents. But I also felt
connection - my life was not in isolation.

Saira: (Growing up), I often felt the need to choose a dominant culture, but
now I feel as if I can choose certain aspects of both mainstream culture and
Pakistani culture based on my personal feelings and a particular situation.
Thus, I have made my own culture. This doesn't work when it comes to relationships.
If I am with a white man, I often feel that he doesn’t understand such
a big part of my life. Or, that I am betraying my parents' culture. Or worse,
that the man is with me only because he has a fetish for South Asian women.
When I am with a Pakistani man, I feel that he expects me to be purely South
Asian. These issues clearly ring in The Namesake.

Do you think Lahiri’s work is simply a representation of second-generation
South-Asian America that can only be appreciated by that specific group?

Auditi: I don’t think any work can be so easily pigeonholed. Maybe you
could characterize it as a fair representation of “middle-class-educated-academic-community-first-wave-second-generation-Bengali-America.”
Each step you get away from one of those traits, the book becomes less applicable.
But that shouldn’t be the point. I recommended the book to a number of
others. I think that for my mom and Indian relatives, this book is a harsh look
at what we second-generation kids have gone through. It’s not always positive.
I think it was hard for them to relate to the characters because they almost
took it personally. On the other hand, my non-South-Asian friends who’ve
read it could enjoy the richness of the story and characters.

Pooja: Lahiri has, I think, actually broken out of the "South Asian Fiction"
pigeonhole in terms of how her book has been received. I think she is now "Popular,
Contemporary Women's Fiction."

Suparna It's easy to dismiss the novel based on its cultural identifications
but I do believe others can relate. If the classic American novel is about the
quest for self and individuality, then Lahiri's novel steps perfectly into place
beside other classic American writers. Themes of racial identity crisis, the
power of naming, the questions about place in society, the themes about childhood
and parenthood connect to many, many other novels.

Saira: I think that that anyone can relate to this book. Cultural identity
is a type of identity. Alienation and idenitity issues are familiar to everyone.

Did you feel like there was any unfair stereotyping in the novel? Especially
of Ashima and Ashok, Gogol’s parents, as first generation Indians?

Auditi: I think that the sometimes-negative portrayal of the parents is authentic
when you consider that we’re seeing them through Gogol’s eyes. I
think it’s simplistic and unfair to suggest that a writer should avoid
any negative portraits for fear of stereotyping. Second-generation South Asians
face unique struggles, not the least of which is their relationship with their
parents.

Pooja: Actually, I felt that Ashok and Ashima's characters were the most real,
while many of the other characters, especially Gogol's partners, were one-dimensional
and stereotypical. I found it interesting that many of the 30-something women
characters were complete caricatures. I would have thought that Lahiri would
have actually drawn those characters best, especially Moushumi.

Suparna: The South Asian American voice has usually been first gen’ers
expanding on their lives. But how does it feel to be looked at through the eyes
of their children? Our first gen’er parents often want the Indian community
to be seen as perfect. Ashima and Ashok are not perfect and I wonder if that
is why they are seen as stereotypes.

Did you think that Lahiri broke important ground with this novel?

Suparna: I think what she provides is a real skill with writing. Her voice
is effortless and her characters are vivid. She provokes powerful emotion either
for or against her writing and it says a lot about the impact of her work. Suddenly
South Asian writing has become the new trend. So in some ways she is similar
(to other South Asian American writers) - in other ways she is the writer that
paved the way for other second gen’er voices.

Saira: The Namesake was a disappointment. I don't think that she broke
any important ground. She merely told a story. It was a good novel, but there
was so much hype about Lahiri. I think Lahiri may know the right people and
have the right looks. However, the writing just doesn't carry out the promises
made in the hype.

Auditi: I personally find her voice to be refreshing. Writers like Bharati
Mukherjee and Chitra Banerjee-Divakaruni portray the immigrant generation. The
first generation’s story was about adaptation and learning, acculturating,
and also discovering new things about themselves. The second generation found
itself presented with two conflicting realities and cultures and sets of expectations.
The struggle exists at a formative level, and there’s a sense of helplessness,
maybe even desperation. We didn’t choose to deal with this duality, but
were put in the midst of it. That’s a different story, one that my generation
is just beginning to tell, and I think Lahiri did a nice job.

Suparna Banerjee-Emanuel is an English teacher who lives in
New Jersey. “I am Bengali American and married interracially so I like
novels and stories about Indian culture that do not state that finding peace…
is to accept our Indian-ness through marrying a nice Indian boy and cooking
Indian food and dancing Indian dance.” Pooja Makhijani
is a student in the MFA program in creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College.
She is also editor of the forthcoming anthology Under Her Skin: How Women
Experience Race in America: Childhoods Changed by Color (Seal Press, Fall
2004). Auditi Chakravarty lives in New York and has taught
high school English Literature and Composition. “I grew up in a very traditional
Bengali home in the Midwest, and speak Bengali fluently. I think that is a huge
part of why I connected with this novel.” Saira Khokhar
is a twenty-seven year-old recently graduated medical doctor who grew up in
Connecticut but attended medical school in Pakistan at the behest of her parents.
She is currently pursuing her masters in Urdu Literature at Columbia University
and working on lung cancer research at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.
She is proud to be a New Yorker.